Double Wood_An MFM Billionaire Romance Read online

  I don’t have to fully peruse the content of every email to know we are in deep shit.

  My stomach drops as I sit down on the bed. A light rustling comes from across the room, where Elliot puts his arm over Scarlett’s shoulder and nestles into her.

  And right there at the bottom of the last email is a separate reply one of our attorneys sent to just me and Elliot.

  Call me as soon as you get this.

  I feel my pulse beating in my ears as I walk over to the door, slipping my feet into my loafers and grabbing my hoodie from the back of one of her small kitchen chairs.

  When I get outside into the morning sunshine, I call my attorney and brace myself.

  “Where are you?” he barks into the phone. He was never one for subtlety. That’s why I hired him. He’s a pitbull in a suit. And though I know he’s a gentle guy on the inside, he’ll scare you to your knees. That’s why I like him.

  “I’m at our office,” I say, crossing the street. Across from Scarlett’s apartment, there is a small grass clearing with tall trees, a small narrow hiking path and a few benches. But I can’t sit down right now.

  “Bullshit,” he says, “where are you really?”

  “I’m telling you I’m at the office,” I repeat, getting a little pissed off.

  “You’re not at your office,” he says, “because I am standing outside and there is no one here.”

  “Shit,” I say, sitting down on a green painted bench.

  “I don’t know how carefully you read the emails you were on, but you’ve really stepped in shit this time. Did you try to fuck the deal on purpose? Do you have some kind of subconscious desire to fuck yourself over?”

  “No,” I say, “I don’t have a subconscious desire to fuck myself. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “When you take a seller out to dinner,” he says, “when you’re trying to woo someone into a deal, when you’re trying to make money off them, you probably shouldn’t be playing footsie. Or if you do, don’t make it so fucking obvious. Because man, I know what you were thinking. You probably wanted to get into her good graces, right? Screw her into submission?”

  “No,” I spit at him, “no. We didn’t do it to get her to sell to us. That’s fucked up.”

  “So you actually like her?” he replies incredulously, “that’s even worse. That’s what I was afraid of. Do you know how this looks?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, “I know how it looks. But I don’t give a shit.”

  Elliot warned me about this.

  “Listen asshole, you’re not the only one involved here. You don’t get to make decisions with your dick. You don’t get to do whatever the hell you want. The deal is going to go to shit, and the investors have zero confidence in you right now. Both of you. You and Elliot. You’re fucked.”

  “Listen, asshole,” I repeat back to him, my blood coursing through my veins, “you don’t talk to me like that. You work for me.”

  “I’m well aware of that Mark. I work for you. It’s my job to tell you to get your head out of your ass. As soon as our attorneys looked at the contract you and Elliot drew up, everything began to make sense. You gave her a position as a consultant? You know how bad that looks? Some girl with barely any education, and you give her this? You just did that as a favor to her? That costs money.”

  “Who gives a shit if our attorneys don’t like it? How the hell does that involve our investors?”

  “You are naive,” he laughs, “you know how this shit works. People talk. Everyone talks. The draft wasn’t confidential. You know every step of the process has to be vetted carefully to avoid issues just like this. So of-fucking-course the attorney for our investors got wind of this. I don’t know if you thought you could just slip in that little clause about keeping this Scarlett person on without anyone noticing, but between people seeing you out to dinner with her and this little move, which for your sake I hope is a prank, you are on a goddamn sinking ship, my friend. And you’re taking the rest of us with you. This whole thing reeks of corruption.”

  “Let me clue you in,” I say calmly, standing up, “she is not some random person off the street. She brings years of experience with her. This is a risky investment. It was from the start. But Elliot and I convinced the rest of the firm it was the right decision to pursue it because we have this way of making people listen to us. And you know why that is? It’s because we are the bosses, and because we know what the hell we are doing. Scarlett’s involvement going forward will only strengthen us. We don’t have to prove that to you. And we aren’t doing it as a favor to her. Fuck, if anything we are getting her at a discount. She’s fucking priceless.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the call.

  “I knew this wouldn’t look good if it got out,” I continue, “fuck, Elliot even told me we were playing with fire here. But it doesn’t matter now.”

  “I’m sorry, how the hell is Elliot involved in this?”

  I swallow thickly. I’m not coming out with the whole truth. Not right now. No, I need to hold it in until we are able to talk to her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We will meet you at our office in a half hour. Just stay there.”

  I end the call and look across the street to Scarlett’s apartment above the bakery.

  Elliot and I have some things to sort out.

  Elliot

  What the hell are we walking into here?”

  Mark and I get out of the car outside our office, the doors shutting behind us with loud thumps. Gary is standing out front. He looks pissed. Mark didn’t tell me what the problem with the deal was. He only told me Gary was here, waiting for us, and he’s not happy.

  “Just follow my lead,” Mark says, straightening out, standing up straight. I’m not comfortable with that, but I allow it. His jaw tenses and his mouth pulls into a straight line when we catches Gary’s eyes.

  Unfortunately, I have a sinking feeling inside my chest that I already know what’s going on. It makes me sick to think Scarlett might be involved in this. But I already know she is involved.

  Gary reaches out to shake both our hands.

  “Let’s get right to the point,” Mark says, passing Gary quickly. “Elliot, you have the keys, right?”

  I open the door and let us in. We haven’t been back to the space in a few days, but it’s coming along brilliantly. It’s Sunday, so our construction crew has the day off, but the progress is wonderful and they deserve the day off. The reception area features a clear lucite and black marble desk, and behind it on the wall is our Mark-Elliot logo, with “Long Island” emblazoned below. It announces what’s inside the office space perfectly - it’s all us, but it represents our branching out into a new industry. It’s classic, but it’s exciting. It bridges old and new, and it’s what we have been working for for years. I feel that inside my bones, a spark of excitement and the feeling that this office represents a culmination of all our hard work.

  But I’m pulled out of my thoughts real fast when I look over at Gary.

  “Who is she,” he asks, “who is the girl?”

  Mark and I look at each other, sharing a deep, quiet understanding between us. I see his expression change from the hardened, hyperactive intensity behind his eyes to the softer, more personable expression that encapsulates who my best friend really is inside.

  “She’s the seller,” he says. “You already know who she is. You have all of her financials. You have her bio.”

  “You have her freaking resume, her picture, everything,” I add. “You already know who she is, like Mark said.”

  “No,” Gary says slowly, “I mean who is she really? You’re right, I have all her credentials and I have her financial documents. We’ve been holding this information for weeks. I know her inside and out. I know her business. Everyone at the firm does. But I’ll ask you two again,” he says, his eyes drifting between Mark and me, “who is Scarlett Kates?”

  “She is a very important part of the business,” I say, stepping forw
ard softly. “And she needs our help.”

  Gary laughs and throws his arms into the air.

  “That’s what I was afraid of. You two have one obligation. You have one job. You have one purpose, and it doesn’t involve helping this girl. Your only obligation - and I mean the only thing that should be on your mind - is putting Mark-Elliot in the best position to flip The Gutter and make as much money as possible. That’s. It.”

  He punctuates his words with a finger pointed at both of us, as if he is the boss. As if he makes the rules.

  This is the bullshit I was afraid of. This is what I warned Mark about. This is why I was hesitant to get involved at first.

  At first. Because now, I would pack up and call the deal off and write off the loss as the cost of doing business if it meant not hurting Scarlett. The women I love. The woman we love.

  “There’s a way out of this,” Gary says, “simply take the clause out that permits her to stay on as a consultant. Knock ten percent off the price. Get her to sign. Then walk away.”

  Gary hands Mark the leather portfolio he’s holding.

  “We need her,” Mark says, “she is integral to the success of The Gutter.”

  “That’s bullshit, and I think we all know what’s going on here,” Gary says. “We can salvage this. I’ve already spoken to the others while you two were on your way over. You’ve worked too hard to let this girl get in the way of this deal. You know I’m right, Mark. Just walk away. She still gets a nice payday with the new structure of the deal, and you both get to walk away from this thing with your reputations intact. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Mark and I look at each other. I feel my insides burning. My cool, confident exterior is being eaten away at the thought of disappointing Scarlett. Of betraying her. Of losing her.

  “Without her, there is no deal,” I say.

  “I don’t think you understand the finer points of what I’m trying to convey,” Gary says with a raised eyebrow, “with her there is no deal. This is non-negotiable.”

  “Our position is non-negotiable as well,” Mark says, “so I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”

  Gary shakes his head, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  “I’ll give you a few hours to change your mind. I’ll be in touch.”

  Gary lets himself out, storming through the door with a determination that I don’t see from him often. He’s a beast, that’s for sure - that’s why he’s on our team - but right now he looks like he’s out of patience, out of whatever resources he has housed deep inside him to reason with me and Mark. He looks defeated.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Mark says, turning to me. A shadow of concern passes over his face and his eyes narrow.

  “I think the best thing would be to speak with Scarlett,” I say. “We should be completely upfront with her.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Mark says. “Gary seems pretty intent on everything.”

  “He’s making us choose between her and the deal,” I say. But I haven’t lost hope. I won’t go down without a fight.

  “I honestly don’t know what the hell we are going to do. Should we never have started up with her?”

  “No,” I say, my chest tightening with a strange feeling of optimism. “She is the best thing that ever happened to us. And I have an idea. What if we didn’t have to choose? What if we could keep her, and give her the deal she wants and deserves?”

  Mark tosses the leather portfolio onto the desk and puts his hands on his hips, a wide grin passing over his face.

  “Let’s go talk to her. We shouldn’t have just left her so fast this morning. She deserves better than that.”

  “And we can give her everything she needs,” I say, “together.”

  Scarlett

  Dejeuner?”

  I practice my pronunciation out loud as I walk to Mark and Elliot’s office space. It’s a lovely morning, and the birds in the trees above the quiet street are singing. It is the perfect morning for a walk. It is the perfect morning to bring some breakfast to Mark and Elliot.

  I am nearly skipping as I walk along the narrow sidewalk. People are out for brunch, sipping mimosas and eating waffles and pancakes topped with whipped cream at pretty iron and glass tables outside a small cafe. The old bookstore is open, and a few elderly couples are sorting through carts of old hardcover volumes. A soft, warm breeze comes off the Hudson, wrestling through the leaves on the trees at my right.

  And at the end of the street, where my favorite old thrift shop used to stand, is Mark and Elliot’s new office. I smile and I feel my heart skip a beat when I get to the front window.

  For the first time in years, I feel at peace. I feel calm. And I feel cared for. I feel someone else seeing me as their priority. And it’s two people instead of just one.

  Mark and Elliot, Elliot and Mark. And me.

  I look up at their building, marveling at how lucky I am, and impressed by what they’ve been able to accomplish. There is a tiny, nagging pull deep inside me that says I don’t deserve what they’ve offered me, but I doubt they got where they are by handing out favors for people who don’t deserve it.

  Just having them in my life would be enough, and they know it. I don’t need the consultancy offer. It’ll be so wonderful, though, to be able to continue working with The Gutter, even if in a reduced capacity. And I know they have its best interests at heart.

  I peer through the window of their office. They aren’t here, and I feel my lips turn down into a frown because I brought them so fresh, hot bread from the bakery. I thought for sure they would be here, and I wanted to surprise them.

  I pass the window and go over to the door, putting my hand against it. It opens slightly, and I push it forward a bit more, allowing it to open.

  “Hello?” I call as I poke my head into the office. I hope they didn’t leave the door unlocked all night. Even though I know no one would try to break in, they’re liable to get a family of possums or skunks in here if they aren’t careful.

  The space looks wonderful. Everything is still a bit dusty, but the space is really beginning to be filled out. I walk over to the reception desk and smile up at their new logo, complete with the name of their new location.

  And I feel my heart swell with pride. I’d like to think I was a big part of why they’d decided to take a chance here. They certainly took a chance on me, and I on them. And I’m so glad I did.

  I put the bag of fresh scones down on the reception desk. I decide to leave a note with it, so I go into my purse and grab a pen and the small notebook I always keep on me. There’s some French phrases in here, just little things I practice from time to time. Now that I’m shifting into a new role, maybe I will have more time to practice. Maybe I can even book myself a nice vacation and practice my pronunciation in real-life France.

  Good morning boys, I write down, I came to look for you but couldn’t find you. That’s okay, because I know I’ll see you soon. Enjoy :)

  I could call them, but I think the note is a cute touch. I tuck it under the corner of the bag and notice a black folder on the desk. This must be our contract, and I take the folder in my hands, flipping it open.

  Smiling, I glance over the contract. I’ve never been involved in a deal this big before. The biggest deal I’ve ever entered into was for a year’s supply of plastic drinking cups with a local vendor. Of course my attorney will have to review everything before I sign, but this is a big deal for me.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I flip the page. Selling is bittersweet, but I know this is the right thing to do.

  As I scan the page, though, I begin to find language that is slightly different from the contract the boys presented to me last night. Or maybe amidst all of the excitement, I didn’t read carefully enough. I only ended up reading the whole thing after the boys had fallen asleep, and maybe I was too tired and worn out to focus.

  But no, I would never have missed some of these things. On the third page there is ment
ion of small payouts for the alley’s current staff when they are laid off. We never discussed layoffs. This was not in the original contract.

  I try to swallow, but my mouth has become dry. I exhale shakily, flipping to the last few pages of the contract.

  My heart is racing as I fumble with the pages, putting the folder down on the desk. I steady myself against the edge of the desk, barely able to breathe. There is no clause about me staying on as a consultant.

  I feel the corners of my eyes begin to prick with tears. They would never do this to me. This must be a huge misunderstanding - a misunderstanding on my part. I flip back to the first page. This document must be dated. This must be an earlier draft.

  And when I flip to the first page and check the top right corner for the date of the contract, I feel like a ton of bricks has been dropped on me. Right there in black and white is today’s date.

  This is the most recent version of the contract. I was updated today, and it’s barely ten in the morning.

  I inhale deeply, struggling with every moment to get air into my lungs. I struggle against the room around me as hot tears begin to stream down my face.

  I wipe the tears away with the backs of my hands, but they keep coming.

  I don’t know why they did this to me.

  I don’t understand.

  Turning to walk toward the door, I attempt to compose myself, but I can’t. I feel betrayed and hurt. So hurt. Disappointed.

  And then I hear my phone ding. It’s a text from Elliot and Mark.

  Please come to your apartment. We need to speak with you.

  They need to speak with me? No. There’s nothing to talk about. I have nothing to say to them.

  And I walk out of their office slowly, crushed, my heart slamming inside me. My tongue feels numb, as though I wouldn’t be able to speak to them even if I wanted to. My legs feel like jelly. My arms feel like they are filled with lead. I just want to collapse on the ground.